


Show, Don't Tell

by dametokillfor



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Abuse of Russian, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon muses on his relationship with Illya, and what they mean to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show, Don't Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt on the [kinkfromuncle](http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=216192#cmt216192) kink meme.
> 
>  _Illya doesn't know he's in love, but it's okay, because Napoleon (and Gaby) knows, and that's enough._
> 
> This is more from Napoleon's POV, but there is an implication that Illya doesn't know how far gone he is. Alas no Gaby, but I may bring her into something at a later date.

Napoleon knows.

Illya likes to think he hides it under layers of faux hostility and general irritation, but Napoleon isn't stupid.

It's in every quirk of his lips, not quite a smile, but a whisper of amusement, of pride that this idiot is his friend, his partner, his cowboy.  
It's in the nickname, the insult that has become a term of endearment, something that only Illya gets to use. He uses it with almost fondness now. Napoleon only hears his actual name when he's screwed up, or when he's being screwed.

It's in the way Illya touches him. Be it a gentle touch to the shoulder as he leans to read something over his shoulder, or fingers buried deep in his ass brushing against his prostate, even a cuff round the head when Napoleon is being particularly annoying. Illya only touches him with purpose, with meaning, and it drives Napoleon wild. 

It's in the way Illya kisses him, the way he slides his hands into Napoleon's hair, the way he looks at him, searches his face for a sign Napoleon is as far gone as he is, before leaning in and brushing their lips together lightly, just once. He gives Napoleon a chance to flee every time – as if Napoleon ever could - before chasing his lips, and kissing him harder. 

It's in the way Illya makes love to him, and Napoleon can't, doesn't want to pretend it's anything but making love. It’s how Illya always takes him apart exquisitely every time, soft kisses, ghosting breathes across his body, fingers trailing over his ribs, barely touching him for the longest time. He whispers sweet nothings, words in Russian that Napoleon pretends not to understand, just to hear him whisper them again. (He thinks Illya knows, is sure he does, but what does it matter if Illya is willing to repeat them?)

How Illya opens him with long fingers, and God, his tongue and isn’t at all squeamish about it. Even from the first time, Illya has been all or nothing, taste everything and feel everything. He prepares Napoleon with care, with love, with a level of tenderness that Napoleon isn’t used to. It was almost too much the first time, has almost been too much every time, but God, Napoleon craves it. 

Illya always moves slow, no matter how desperate they are for one another, takes his time, takes care not to hurt Napoleon. Napoleon wants to tell him that he can take it, everytime that he can take it, but he doesn’t want to break this spell they’re under when they’re in each others arms. He doesn’t want to go back to ‘Solo’, he wants to be ‘Napoleon’, ‘cowboy’, wants to be _Солнышко_ , _Милый_.

Illya always brings him to a perfectly, deep, bone shaking climax. He makes sure Napoleon is satisfied, large hand bringing him over the edge, before Illya lets himself come, before he fucks deep into Napoleon’s spent body and reaches his own release. 

Illya drives him fucking insane. He whispers names against his neck, and promises against his collarbones, and God, Napoleon is crazy about him, about the way he looks at him, the way he touches him, the way he holds him and talks to him and he’s in love with him, so goddamn in love with him, and he wants nothing more than to tell Illya how mad he drives him, wants to hear the same words back. 

Instead he makes do with the way that Illya holds him, the way he wraps his arms around him as they fall back into each others arms. Illya’s lips at his neck, at his ear, whispering soft words in an accent that shouldn’t sound so goddamn loving and beautiful. 

For now, Napoleon thinks, _достаточно_.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations** (from Google, apologies to any native speakers!)  
>  Солнышко - My sun.  
> Милый - Darling.  
> достаточно - That's enough.
> 
> Feel free to squee, and enable me on [Tumblr](http://damnstevens.tumblr.com)!


End file.
